‘Oh, it’s clear, all right,’ Ben said.
Khosa glanced at the gold ingot on his wrist. ‘I am pleased. And now I must be leaving. I have an important rendezvous and I do not wish to be late.’
‘Your helicopter is waiting, Excellency,’ the secretary informed him.
And so it began. Ben wanted to check in on Jeff and Tuesday, but it wasn’t to be. He was taken directly from Khosa’s office to a waiting Jeep, which whisked him several city blocks to a large, slab-sided four-storey building on a square he’d never seen before. He quickly discovered what it was being used for. From the ground floor up, the whole building had been subdivided into tiny wood-partitioned rooms that served as dormitories for Khosa’s troops: bunks stacked three high, nine to a room with barely space to turn around.
Ben was shown to a rudimentary bathroom and given exactly five minutes to wash off the dried dirt that caked him all over. When he came out, he was thrown a new uniform of mismatched combat clothing and then led to a rough-and-ready canteen with grease-streaked walls and rows of bench tables, where a scowling African in a filthy apron gave him a look of disgust and a bowl of boiled chicken mixed in with some kind of sticky mess made from cassava flour. Ben had had worse breakfasts. He wolfed it down without tasting it, a skill he’d learned in his own army, long ago. Three minutes later, he was marched back outside. The convoy was departing. They weren’t the only ones leaving the city in a hurry. Ben glanced skywards and saw a chopper flying off into the distance. Khosa, off to attend to more dirty business.
Ben hoped the helicopter crashed and burned in the jungle.
The troop transporters were rugged six-wheel-drive Urals with huge knobbly tyres, canvas tie-down canopies and metal benches in the back. The two at the rear of the line were empty, for the purposes of bringing home Khosa’s youthful new recruits. Ben was put into the lead truck, crammed in with thirty other men, the only one of them not armed. He received a few suspicious looks from the soldiers, but they quickly ignored him. Through a gap in the canopy Ben caught a glimpse of Captain Xulu strutting towards the front of the truck, sporting a swollen lip that made it look as if he was pouting. Then they were off.
The military convoy rumbled noisily through the streets and across the no-man’s land separating the city from the perimeter fences. The gates were already open for them and they streamed through, obscuring the gate guards behind billows of dust. The smooth concrete roadway became a rutted track as the procession of vehicles was swallowed up by the jungle.
For the next three hours the truck swayed and rocked and bumped and lurched. Ben had sat in a hundred army trucks in a dozen countries, though never before as a noncombatant observer. He barely registered the rough ride, the dust and flies, the odour of thirty sweaty troops or the sweltering heat that built and built as midday approached. He slouched back on the bench, leaning against the canvas, closed his eyes and became very still. Outwardly, he might have looked as if he was sleeping. Inwardly, his mind was burning up with thoughts of what he’d seen that day.
The hour he’d spent between escaping from his makeshift dungeon and being picked up by the soldiers hadn’t been spent idly. He’d made the most of the opportunity to explore his surroundings alone and unobserved. The hole was situated among scrubland, through which a dirt road snaked roughly southwards away from the city perimeter. That was where Khosa had let it slip that the hydroelectric station that powered the city was located. Ben had spotted it from the top of a thornbush-covered rise, where he’d lain flat and observed some interesting activity.
The hydro plant straddled a wide river. Like the city itself, it was startlingly modern and new: a massive concrete dam holding back countless millions of tons of murky water on its eastern side. On its eastern side, six enormous waterfalls gushed in spectacular torrents of white foam and rainbow-hued spray from sluices in the dam, dropping eighty feet like miniature Victoria Falls before the river continued on its journey east.
It was a seriously impressive installation. Ben couldn’t begin to estimate what it must have cost to build. Now more than ever, he was wondering about the strange partnership Khosa seemed to enjoy with his Chinese business associates. Clearly, even more Far Eastern money was being invested into this place than Ben had first realised. But why? He had no idea.
Until he gazed a little further south, past the plant, beyond the far side of the river. That was when the beginnings of understanding began to dawn on him.
The dam was more than just a dam. Its concrete spine doubled as a bridge, with heavily guarded gates at both ends to control vehicles crossing the river. And over the bridge, visible here and there through the thicket of trees that lined the riverside, was a long stretch of security fence that protected what Khosa had described as ‘the industrial zone’.
Ben could have done with a pair of powerful binoculars to observe the place in better detail, and take a closer look at the movements of men and machinery that were happening over there. But he saw enough.
They were mining.
Chapter 19
A little more than three hours from the city, the troop convoy arrived at its destination and the soldiers scrambled out of the trucks amid a great deal of yelling and excitement. Captain Xulu strutted and puffed his chest and barked commands that did little to create any kind of order. Ben jumped down from the back of the lead truck, full of apprehension.
The trucks had halted nose to tail on a dirt road shaded from one side by thick forest and flanked on the other by a high stone wall. Beyond dilapidated iron gates that were locked with a chain, a rambling mansion-style residence stood at the end of what had once been a grand driveway. A weathered wooden sign on the wall read ORPHELINAT RELIGIEUX POUR GARÇONS SAINT-BAKANJA. Many years before it had become a Catholic orphanage, back in the colonial heyday of the French Congo, the property might have been the country hideaway of a wealthy merchant, conceived in splendid style with all-around airy verandas, columns and a red-tile hipped roof. Time and decay had taken a heavy toll, though despite its state of disrepair the house retained a certain dignity. The woodwork was badly in need of renovation but freshly painted, and the gardens were well tended. The remote orphanage was a lovingly tended haven of peace and serenity.
Until now.
Nobody was in sight within the orphanage grounds except for a wizened old man of about seventy-five who’d been picking at a patch of weeds by the house. He paused his work to turn and stare at the trucks and soldiers. Even at this distance, Ben could see the whites of his eyes widening in alarm.
‘Lieutenant Umutese!’ roared Xulu, pointing at the gates. ‘I want these gates opened!’
‘Very good, Captain,’ Umutese replied, snapping a salute and delegating the order to an underling, who immediately scurried to the driver of the lead truck. The driver revved his engine, cranked the big wheels back into gear and the Ural troop transport lumbered towards the orphanage entrance without slowing down for the gates. They were ripped from their rusty old hinges and flattened as the truck rolled through the gateway. Not waiting for further orders the soldiers swarmed in after it, yowling and waving their rifles in glee as they invaded the grounds. The old gardener had frozen stiff as a statue, as though mesmerised by the sight of ninety armed men rushing towards him.
Ben’s heart was in his throat. ‘What are you going to do to these people?’ he asked Xulu.
‘We will do what is right,’ Xulu said, eyeing Ben with a glint of loathing. ‘And what General Khosa commands.’ With that, he marched through the smashed, twisted gates after his men. Walking towards the old gardener he shouted, ‘You! Yes, you! What is your name? Where are the children?’
The old man was either speechless with terror, or he was brave enough to refuse to answer, or he had no tongue. Either way, he stood there with wide eyes as Xulu strode imperiously up to him, and said nothing.
‘I SAID, WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?’ Xulu screamed at him. When the old man still didn’t reply, Xulu tore his pistol from its
holster and thrust it towards the old man’s face.
The shot went off with a sharp crack. But Xulu’s bullet went nowhere near the old man, because the captain was suddenly rolling in the dust, knocked half senseless. His pistol went flying out of his hand. Ben picked it up and stood over him.
‘Maybe I didn’t make myself clear before, Xulu,’ Ben said. ‘If you think I’m going to stand by and watch you murder a defenceless bystander, you need to pay more attention to what I say.’
Xulu staggered to his feet. ‘That is the second time you have struck me, soldier. There will not be a third time.’
‘If there is, you won’t be getting up again. You can bet on that.’ He tossed the pistol back to Xulu. ‘Stick that back in its holster. If I see it come out again, you’ll be spitting gold teeth for a week. Clear?’
Quivering with rage, Xulu thrust the weapon in his belt. Then he pointed a shaking finger at Ben and screamed to his soldiers, ‘Take him! Take him!’
A bunch of them closed in on Ben all at once. The first one to reach him was carrying a Chinese submachine gun on a sling around his neck. Ben sidestepped him, grabbed the weapon and jerked it so hard that the strap almost broke the soldier’s neck and sent him tumbling headlong to the ground, where a hard boot to the temple ensured that he’d stay a while. The second soldier had his legs swept out from under him by a scything kick, and Ben’s foot stamping down on his throat to put him out of the game. He wouldn’t be needing his AK-47 anymore, so Ben tore it from his fingers and used it to club the third with a smashing blow of its steel butt plate to the face, before the next guy swiftly got the same treatment and went down like an empty suit of clothing with a broken cheekbone. Four down, three seconds.
Then six more were coming at him. Ben’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t fight them all. But he could do some damage before they took him down. Plenty of damage. That was for sure.
The shot that rang out was from Xulu’s pistol, back in his hand now that he was safely surrounded by his men. Ben felt the bullet pass within an inch of his nose. He didn’t know if it was a deliberate miss, or whether Xulu was just a bad shot. It didn’t matter. He stopped, fists clenched, his legs locked in a low combat crouch. The soldiers formed a tightening ring around him.
‘I will kill you, white man!’ Xulu screamed, waving the gun. ‘I will blow out your brains!’
‘Then best get on with it, eh?’ Ben said.
Then Ben’s vision exploded in a white flash and he felt himself collapse to the ground. Xulu had shot him in the head.
But there had been no shot. Blinded by pain, Ben realised that he’d been clubbed from behind. He clutched his head, tried to get up, but fell back. It felt as if his skull was bursting apart. Flashes and zigzags of lightning danced in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see properly. There was a loud rushing in his ears.
Then another hard blow struck him in the jaw and sent him sprawling backwards. Before he blacked out he saw Xulu’s towering figure step away from him, grinning down a blurry golden grin.
Ben would never know how long he was unconscious for. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. When his eyes fluttered open, his vision was smeared out of focus. The first sensation he registered was the steely taste of blood in his mouth from where Xulu had kicked him. The second was a confused kaleidoscope of noise that took several seconds to come into focus before he realised it was the sound of rattling gunfire and screaming. He blinked his eyes, managed to prop himself up on one elbow where he lay in the dirt, and looked groggily around him at the scene unfolding like a bad dream.
Chapter 20
Nearest to Ben was the old gardener, lying twisted on the ground a few feet away. He was on his belly but his eyes were staring up at the sky. It took Ben a couple of seconds to realise that was because the old man’s head was almost completely separated from his body, attached only by a few gruesome strings of tissue where his neck had been chopped.
Closer to the rickety wooden steps that led up to the orphanage’s veranda, a group of soldiers was herding terrified nuns out of the building at gunpoint. A large crowd of children had already been corralled into a tight group on the lawn. They were all boys, the youngest ones maybe eight, the oldest approaching their teens, all watching in stunned silence and with a mixture of fear and blank curiosity as the dozen or so nuns were marched roughly down the steps. One tripped and fell. Two soldiers began kicking her in the head and body and she put up her hands to protect her face. They dragged her to her feet and shoved her together with the others. She tried to struggle, so they knocked her back down to the ground and went on kicking her.
Last to be brought out was a reedy white man. He must have been eighty or more, dressed like a priest. The missionary, Ben guessed. When he saw what the soldiers were doing to the fallen nun, the priest gave a yell of rage and shook free of the two soldiers clutching his arms to go running to her aid. He hadn’t made it four steps before they unslung their rifles and shot him in the back. He collapsed on his face, arms outflung. Some of the nuns were screaming, others bowed their heads and prayed. Many of the children were crying and howling. Nobody tried to go to him.
Ben was still seeing double from the blow to the head, and his face felt numb and hot where Xulu had kicked him. He felt his jaw to check it wasn’t broken, and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to feel for loose teeth. He couldn’t feel any, but he could taste blood. He spat red. Then three soldiers walked up to him, one put his weapon to Ben’s head and the other two yanked him to his feet.
Captain Xulu grinned and pointed and said, ‘I want him to watch.’
Ben wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t close his ears. It was ninety men against one. He’d done all he could to stop them. Now he was powerless to do anything but stand there as the horror unfolded in front of him.
The children were made to watch, too.
First the soldiers held the nuns at gunpoint until the whole building had been swept from top to bottom for anyone hiding. Then Xulu ordered for the nuns to be stripped. The soldiers set enthusiastically about their task, beating and stamping and punching the twelve women into coercion.
While they worked, Xulu turned to the children and began lecturing them about the ills of religious indoctrination. ‘We are here to liberate you in the name of General Jean-Pierre Khosa of the Congo Freedom Army!’ he yelled. ‘You are the lucky ones! You have a new father now, in our saviour General Khosa. Millions of boys would envy you, for you have been chosen to fight for our leader and share in the great victories to come. He will protect you and give you great powers, and in return you will protect him from his enemies. This is how you will repay his kindness to you.’
Xulu waved an arm behind him at the dead priest and the nuns, now being dumped naked on the ground like sacks of flour. ‘Forget these wicked people,’ he commanded the children. ‘All they have done is fill your heads with ignorance and lies. For this, we have been sent to punish them. They are no longer your family. The army is your family now. It will teach you many important lessons. Do you understand? Say “Yes, Captain Xulu!”’
A rippling mutter of ‘Yes, Captain Xulu,’ came from the crowd of children. Some were still crying.
Xulu folded his arms and tossed his head proudly. ‘The army is good, but you will learn that you can die at any moment. How many of you have seen a person die? Show your hands!’
A few shaky hands went up. Ben wasn’t surprised. Many of these kids had probably witnessed their entire families being gunned or hacked to death, right in front of them.
‘How many of you have killed a person?’ Xulu was improvising on the same script he’d used back at the training ground, the previous day. Except this time, there was nothing Ben could do to prevent it from playing out. This time, Xulu would have his way.
‘How many? Put up your hands! Do not be afraid!’
There was no show of hands. Xulu scanned the crowd, nodded with satisfaction and said, ‘Then, children, today is the beginning of you
r re-education!’
Xulu held out an open hand. His best gofer, Lieutenant Umutese, immediately ran up to him clutching a shiny black automatic weapon. Ben’s fuzzy vision had focused enough by now for him to recognise it as one of the Chinese QBZ assault rifles that he had personally unpacked from their crates just the previous morning. It seemed like weeks ago.
Xulu snatched the gun from Umutese without looking at him. He held it up in the air for all the children to get a good look at. ‘This will be your weapon! It is very expensive and very precious. You will learn to treat it with love and learn to use it well. This gun can do many things. First, let me show you how it can be used in close combat, face to face with your enemy. Lieutenant!’
Umutese didn’t need to be told what to do. Ben was beginning to realise that the whole sickening routine had been planned out from the start. Umutese barked an order at the soldiers standing over the naked bodies of the nuns. They instantly grabbed three of the women, hauled them to their feet and shoved them up against the railing of the veranda. The women made no attempt to struggle. All three stood quietly, eyes to the ground, muttering prayers under their breath.
Ben’s heart went out to them for their courage and dignity. He was so sorry for what he knew was about to happen.
Xulu walked up to within less than ten yards of the women and flipped the fire selector on his weapon to fully automatic. At that range, he didn’t need to aim. He fired from the hip, in a raking left-to-right arc that blasted splinters from the railing and cut the women down in a crumpled heap. They died without a sound.